


where your breaths take you, i will stay

by orphan_account



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, Noah fence but idk what this is or why i wrote it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 07:04:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11984673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: lmao not beta read just forget that jon even did half the shit he did, robb never dies, he's king in the north and jon comes back to winterfell





	where your breaths take you, i will stay

**Author's Note:**

> lmao not beta read just forget that jon even did half the shit he did, robb never dies, he's king in the north and jon comes back to winterfell

Winter is here. Jon comes home. 

The Wall, Robb notices almost instantly, has hardened him. Jon reaches for him; strong arms looping around Robb’s shoulders, pulling him in into an embrace so tight he can't breathe and it feels a bit like embracing a stone wall. The Wall has made him stronger. And when he pulls back, Robb cannot help but run a hand over his cheek, thumb brushing over a small scar on Jon’s cheekbone.

“You look older,” he breathes out and Jon smiles, something slightly shy and endearing as strands of unruly black hair fall into his eyes.

“I see grey hairs on your head, your Grace,” Jon replies teasingly and Robb laughs a little, fumbling with the clasp on his cloak. He lets it fall to the ground, hands finding their way onto the nape of Jon’s neck and pulling him close enough for Robb to feel every ridge and crease in Jon’s body pressed against his.

Jon’s hand falls loosely on his hip, thumb curling over the jut of Robb’s hipbone. He holds him close.

“How was the Wall?” Robb asks absently, unable to look away from Jon’s eyes. They've always been so dark, inky and mysterious. Like they hold all the secrets that Robb wishes he knew. 

“Horrible,” Jon replies and inhales slow.

“I've missed you,” He says so soft and low and full of tender emotion that Robb feels it in his body; words wrapping around his heart, beating against his ribcage with every pump of his heart.

“I've missed you, too,” he murmurs and then tilts his head slightly, capturing Jon’s lips in a surprise kiss.

Jon obliges immediately, hand tightening on Robb’s hip as he slides his tongue into Robb’s mouth. He tastes warm and familiar and Robb shudders, one hand snaking up into Jon’s curls, tugging hard. It earns him a soft groan so he does it again and again until Jon pushes him to the wall of his chambers, nipping at his bottom lip. He hits his head against the stone, whimpering when Jon’s knee wedges between his legs, nudging them apart. 

They're no longer young boys; Robb knows that rutting wildly against the wall is foolish but when Jon grinds up against him slowly he can't help but follow. Fall into the rhythm with no sound but their strained groans and the sound of leather squeaking together. Robb comes first, head buried in Jon’s neck with a quiet moan and Jon follows, fingers pressing bruises into Robb’s hips.

“You're amazing,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss in the dip of Jon’s collarbone. He shuffles forward several times until Jon is cornered against the bed and he falls onto it, fingers clamping onto Robb’s and pulling him towards him. 

Robb lets himself fall over Jon, head hitting his chest lightly as he settles within his arms. It's nice, a familiar position that reminds Robb of the days they used to spar, landing accidental bruises on each other and retreating into Robb’s chambers to hide away from the world. They used to lie on the furs, hands clutched as tight as possible, discussing the future.

Robb thinks that perhaps in another life they would've been allowed to chase their aspirations, to love each other freely and to be together. He thinks he would've liked that. And yet, he could never give up what he has right now. Here, with his ear pressed to Jon’s chest, his heart beating rhythmically to Jon’s, Robb feels at peace.

“I love you, Snow,” he says, “I’ve missed you,” he repeats and feels Jon’s fingers, calloused and scarred, wrap around his wrist, tracing the thin skin on the inside.

“I love you, Stark,” Jon says so fiercely that Robb’s heart thumps faster, “never forget it.”

There's a moment of silence that hangs in the cool air. Robb remembers absently, that neither of them started a fire in the hearth.

“Everyday, I thought of you. Everyday, I missed you.” His voice is low.

“I’m sorry,” Robb says uselessly, sitting up.

Jon sits up too, toeing off his boots and then his tunic and shirt until he's completely barechested. Robb can't help but stare at the thick, pink, scars that litter his torso. There's so many, it makes his stomach lurch and his throat close.

“I thought of you when I died,” Jon says softly, eyes shifting away from Robb’s and towards the wall.

Robb swallows as a mixture of anger and pain spreads an ache through his veins. His hand trembles as he reaches up, fingers tracing the largest scar. His fingertips ride over the ridges and bumps and he shivers, pulling his hand away.

“Who did this?” He asks quietly, voice shaking with thinly veiled rage.

Jon sighs deeply, “it doesn't matter now, does it? I came back and I will come back a thousand more times if I have to,” he trails off, hands reaching for Robb's, “if that means I won't ever leave your side, Stark.”

Robb forces down the sheer anger that pulses inside him and looks at Jon, slate grey eyes meeting warm brown. He would give a slow and painful death every fool that dared to lay a hand on Jon. 

“I’m no maiden,” he sniffs, unable to find any other words, “that you can charm with promises, Snow.” 

Jon laughs, warm and weary and pulls Robb closer until he swings a leg over Jon’s hip, straddling him, “it's working, isn't it?”

They kiss, softer and gentler and Robb tries to show Jon how much he wishes he could've been with him even though he's sure it doesn't work. Jon’s hand cups his jaw, tongue sliding lazily against Robb’s as they kiss, Robb’s fingertips pressing at the nape of Jon’s neck.

They pull away and Robb knocks their foreheads together, so close that not so much as a breath could come between them and Robb feels young, as if he's merely 17 again, pressed against Jon when the winter winds were the harshest. He supposes it's the same now, with icy winds howling outside the safety of his chambers and Jon as his warmth.


End file.
